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A Sturdy Little Northland 



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By 
T. HAROLD GRIMSHAW 



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JENNINGS & GRAHAM 

EATON & MAINS 



31 (\^'?o 
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Copyright, 1913, 
By Jennings & Graham 



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CONTENTS 



Chapter Page 

I. A Sub-Arctic Trip, - - - - 9 

II. "Ultima Thule," - - . . 14 

III. The Folks and Their Ways (I), - 26 

IV. The Folks and Their Ways (II), - 40 
V. A God-Fearing Race, - - - 55 

VI. Kindly Hearts o' Gonfirth, - 64 

VII. Barbara, - 81 

VIII. The Peril of the Sea, - - - 93 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing Page 

It Is a Woefully Sterile Land, - - - 17 

A Shetland Peasant and a Kishie of 

Peats, - - ^ - - - 26 ' 

"Making Good," - - - - - - 52 

A Shetland Home, 64 

Wildly Grand In All Its Adorable Rage, 93 ^ 



FOREWORD 

The sketches that make up this 
little hook are the afterglow of a 
unique and beautiful experience. As 
a missionary in their sea-girt isles I 
learned to know the Shetland folk — 
simple, kindly, valorous, and good. 
And remembering all their loving 
kindness to me, out of the fullness 
of my heart I write of the grit, the 
invincibility , and the nobility in the 
lives of this great, golden-hearted 
people. T. H. G, 

The Parsonage, 
Pinole, California, 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

I 

A Sub-Arctic Trip 

ON the evening of the twenty-eighth of 
April, nineteen hundred and nine, the 
good ship St. Giles threw off her mooring at 
Leith, Scotland, and glided gently down the 
Firth of Forth. It was a night superb. The 
sea had a glasslike smoothness, the atmos- 
phere was crisp and bracing. The old moon 
beamed down upon us in all her silver splen- 
dor, and constellations of twinkling stars sang 
their silent songs overhead. Until the ozone 
of the sea reminded us of the warm berth 
below did we drink in the charm of that glori- 
ous night. Morning dawned, and we awoke 
in the harbor of the "Granite City" — Aber- 
deen. Following breakfast of fish-cakes, toast 
and coffee, and an hour ashore, the syren blew, 
hawsers slackened, telegraph bells jingled, en- 

9 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

gines rumbled, and soon again it was North- 
ward Ho! Keeping "near in," as sailors say, 
we had a fine view of the Scottish coast and 
noted many places of interest, including Peter- 
head with its convict prison and giant crane. 
Late in the day the hazy shore faded away, 
and once again the shades of night fell upon 
us. Soon a stiff breeze came down from the 
north, and with the breeze white caps grew 
until we were sailing a choppy sea. Then 
came that waste of angry waters, the stormy 
Pentland Firth. Our good ship so far had 
behaved herself, but now she began to duck 
and to dive like some gigantic cormorant. 
Every now and then black smoke poured from 
her smokestack, as though getting up strength 
for more terrible capers. Never did I see a 
steamer roll about so much. One minute her 
propeller would be flying round in mid-air and 
her fo'c's'le half under water. The next, she 
would rise like some great sea monster and 
menace the white-crested ocean regiments. 
Even at this remote date the doings and hap- 
penings of that night stand out boldly in my 

10 



A Sub-Arctic Trip 

memory. It was well-nigh ten o'clock when 
the last of us tried, and tried desperately, to 
get below. It was with utmost difficulty that 
we slid down the companion-way and like 
drunken men made our way to the fo'c's'le. 
It might have been the Black Hole of Cal- 
cutta, judging from the groans that met us. 
Like a nightmare do I remember the hours 
that followed. Lying in semi-darkness in none 
too comfortable bunks, and in quarters that 
were swinging and swaying and pitching and 
tossing, surrounded by groans and sighs and 
moans and cries, we longed as never before 
for morning. Suddenly came a bang like the 
detonating of dynamite. What on earth could 
it be? Like a veritable cinematograph one's 
mind produced pictures of a hidden reef; then 
an iceberg; then collision. Fellow-passengers 
were tumbling from their bunks, and Johnson 
and Smith and Hammond in their frantic race 
for the deck fell over each other, and then 
up and on to the companion-way, which, to 
their excited brain, seemed to be purposely 
eluding them — but they were seeking it at the 

11 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

wrong end of the fo'c's'le. Yet nothing very 
serious had happened — only a great billow 
had struck us. And our ship, though she had 
quivered and trembled under the blow, was 
not to be beaten. Soon she rode high to the 
crest and, sHding down the other side, hurried 
on. Ever and anon would come a similar 
shock, but none so big as that one. Good 
ship! What a fighter she was! With her 
one hundred and eighty horse power she bat- 
tled bravely throughout that formidable night, 
and when the morning dawned we were near 
the land again and were thankful. 

But this time 't was a new old land; rugged, 
jagged, sterile, wind-lashed, and storm-beaten; 
one, the first sight of which inspires the traveler 
to quote: 

**A waste land — 
Where no one comes, or hath come 
Since the making of the world." 

A land always the same, but of quahties op- 
posite. A barren land — a flowery land. A 
bad land — a good land. A poor landy — a rich 

12 



A Sub-Arctic Trip 

land. One where desolation and solitude 
reign — one where truest friendship dwells. 
A strange patch of rocky isles, ocean-girt and 
blizzard-swept — but nevertheless a charming 
land. It was ^'Ultima Thule." 



13 



II 

"Ultima Thul< 



»f 



"Grim outpost, where the wild waves sweep 
Along the midnight deep; 
The hero of a thousand wars, 
And crowned with stars. 
The stranger gives thee tribute due, 
Dark sea-caves, skies of blue. 
And cliffs that tower to heaven above ; 
I give thee love." 

HANGING from the Arctic Circle like so 
many pendants from a necklace, are sev- 
eral Islands and groups of Islands. The largest 
and most northerly of them all Is that silent 
and mysterious land — Iceland; with its famous 
Thlngvalla, Its volcanoes, Its geysers, and des- 
erts which are more barren than the deserts of 
Siberia. A few miles southeast of Iceland He 
the Faroe Islands with their quaint capital — 
Thorshaven. Like Iceland, they are a de- 
pendency of Denmark and are exceedingly 

14 



" Ultima Thule" 

Sterile and rugged. Still further southeast 
there lies "Ultima Thule" — -a group of islands 
known to the early Roman explorers as ^^Dis- 
pecta est Thule, '^ or "farthest point of known 
land." Undoubtedly they thought it was the 
"farthest north," and really it is very far 
north. But for the kindly influences of the 
Gulf Stream, these isles would be more frigid 
than Labrador. Their latitude is between 60° 
and 61° N. Traveling on the same degree 
of latitude in a westerly direction, one would 
pass through Northern Canada and Alaska. 
Thule is further north than Cape Farewell in 
Greenland, St. Petersburg in Russia, and al- 
most as far as Dawson City in the Yukon. 

Thule, or Shetland, as it is now called, is 
really a Norse country and once belonged to 
the Norwegian crown. Both the Orkney and 
Shetland Islands were presented to Britain as 
the wedding dowry of Margaret of Norway, 
who married James III of Scotland. The 
annexation took place in the year 1468. It 
is a little world of itself, full of interest, 
novelty and romance, and consists of one hun- 

15 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

dred islands, only thirty of which are inhabited. 
The larger and those of interest are Mainland, 
Yell, Unst, Fetlar, and the lonely isle of Foula. 
Mainland is a scraggy, jaggy, skeleton-like 
isle, about seventy miles in length, and no- 
where more than six miles wide. There is a 
spot near to the Parish of Brae called Mavis 
Grind, where one can cast a stone from the 
east coast into the sea on the west coast. Yell 
and Unst are next in size and are commonly 
called the "North Isles." Fetlar is exceed- 
ingly rocky and is noted for a special breed 
of the famous Shetland ponies. The inhabit- 
ants of this island are unusually tall. Foula 
is the lone sheep of the flock, it being very 
poor and isolated. 

Shetland is a land of rugged grandeur. No- 
where in Great Britain is its rock scenery sur- 
passed. In some places cliffs rise sheer out 
of the sea a height of thirteen hundred feet. 
All the islands are of Silurian slate, with the 
exception of Fetlar and Unst, where large 
surfaces of granite are exposed. The coast 
is much indented, its indentations resembling 

16 



" Ultima Thul. 



»» 



the fjords of Norway. Were the "voes" 
(bays) and lochs studded with trees, the 
scenery would equal that of KlUarney. Shet- 
land Is often classed with Scotland, but this 
should not be done, as It Is a different land 
in many respects. The Orkney Islands were 
at one time (In all probability) a part of Scot- 
land, but not so with Shetland. Even the rock 
strata Is different. In Scotland and Orkney it 
is of horizontal formation, but in Shetland, as 
in Faroe and Iceland, It is almost perpendicu- 
lar. Shetland is extremely hilly, hardly can it 
be said to be mountainous. Ronas Hill — the 
highest peak — Is 1,475 ^^^t. It is not always 
visible, often being draped with mist, and in 
winter appearing like a snow-capped sentinel 
against the gray of the arctic sky. The hill- 
surface is invariably peat, and Is dotted every- 
where with the granite boulders of supposed 
glaciological origin. It is a woefully sterile 
land, scarcely an apology for a tree growing 
anywhere on its bosom. Beautiful heather, 
bearing myriad pink flowers, Is God's carpet 
for this land, and often one finds a sprig of 
2 17 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

the rarest white. In summer the banks of the 
burns are garlanded with primroses, with 
sometimes a solitary bluebell. There is also 
a species of yellow lily growing where fresh 
water flows. The lochs and burns are teeming 
with brown trout, and in the fall one may 
hook a fine sea-trout. Here is the home of 
the cormorant. Amid the wildest tumult of a 
winter's gale he can be seen taking his "con- 
stitutional," bobbing up and down on the 
seething waters. Here, too, is the haunt of 
the seagull, including some rare kinds which 
are protected. The natives ofttimes make 
friends with them, and it is said that in Ler- 
wick (the capital town) a seagull sits on every 
chimney-pot. Often the streets fairly echo 
with their shrill haunting cries. One visitor 
says: "The shrill, long-drawn cries are to Ler- 
wick as the chattering of the sparrows to Lon- 
don. Every house has its own familiar gulls 
and every street its own bands of gulls. They 
never mix. The children of each house call 
the gulls names and feed them every day; and 
every seagull knows what is meant for him. 

18 



" Ultima Thule" 

No gull attached to one house ever seeks to 
eat the food scattered from the house next 
door. So all day long the seagulls hover and 
cry over the roofs of Lerwick. Should a per- 
son come across a pile of rice laid out on the 
roadway, that one would step over it with care. 
He or she would know that it had been placed 
there for some pet gull. At night the gulls 
leave their own appointed chimney-pots and fly 
gracefully away to their nesting-places on the 
rocks of the Isle of Noss." Occasionally flocks 
of eider-ducks migrating from Iceland pass 
overland, and at rare intervals an eagle is seen. 
In the *Voes" one sometimes gets a glimpse 
of a shark, and sometimes a whale, but outside 
whales are frequently seen in shoals. Por- 
poises and seals are also quite numerous. All 
over the islands the Shetland pony is seen, and 
there are thousands of sheep. 

The climate here is a freak climate; some- 
times more charming than California, though 
ofttimes much akin to the Labrador. There 
is much rain, much fog, much snow, and very 
little sunshine; but when the sunny days do 

19 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

come, they are enchanting. A schoolmistress 
from London, in charge of a Shetland school, 
writes; "Life is so very narrow here. One's 
horizon is so fearfully limited. That is one of 
the defects of Shetland; but 1 suppose it has 
its compensations — the summer, for instance. 
That, however, I have to take on hearsay, for 
the weather till now has been frightful. It is 
a most elusive thing, this summer; it reminds 
one of *Alice in Wonderland,' who had jam 
to-morrow and jam yesterday, but never jam 
to-day." 

The capital city of this rocky archipelago is 
Lerwick — the queerest and quaintest town that 
ever was built. Coming in from the ocean by 
way of Bressay Sound, one wonders where the 
means of locomotion are. Streets there seem 
to be none. One visitor says "that it seems as 
though the buildings had at some time danced 
a jig and then had sat down any way and 
anywhere." Upon landing, the buildings are 
found to be all huddled together, with a few 
very narrow streets. Some of the houses at 
the south end are so near the sea that the 

20 



" Ultima Thul. 



»f 



waves break on their gable ends. But Lerwick 
is not merely quaint and lacking in modernity. 
The beautiful town hall with its clock and peal 
of bells is worthy of much admiration. It is 
said that this is the finest building in all the 
northern islands and the most ambitious of 
their modern architecture. It is of Gothic 
style, and both inside and outside are elabo- 
rately decorated. The beautiful stained-glass 
windows present portraits of the kings and 
queens of Norway. The sweet-sounding bells 
of the tower were cast at the famous foundry 
of Van Aerschodt, of Louvain, in Belgium. In 
a word, this attractive little civic structure is 
a **historic memorial of the past thousand 
years.'' Then there is also the Central Public 
School — as fine a building as ever was built 
for so small a city. Also there is a fine new 
fish mart, and excellent harbor works. 

On a sunny summer-day the town and har- 
bor present a most beautiful sight, especially 
if viewed from some points on the North Road 
or from the Isle of Bressay. I can never for- 
get cycling in one day from the country, and 

21 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

suddenly coming in full view of the scene. The 
sun was shining in his strength and the sky was 
as blue as an Italian sky. In the harbor there 
lay at anchor a variety of steamers and wind- 
craft with sails flying in the breeze. It was 
exquisite. Lerwick is a wonderful little town 
in many respects. In the summer it has the 
full appearance of a regular cosmopolitan city. 
Its nominal population is about five thousand, 
but in the fishing season — from April to Sep- 
tember — it steadily rises to twenty thousand. 
Talk about American "hustle !" The push and 
business-like spirit of Lerwick during this 
period compare quite favorably. About four 
hundred steam "herring drifters" visit the port 
annually, exclusive of sail-trawlers. Fisher- 
men of many climes here dispatch their varied 
catches. Shetlanders, Faroese, Icelanders, 
Scots, Englishmen, Dutchmen, Germans, and 
Scandinavians, are all to be seen in the motley 
throng. Then there are the herring stations, 
where hundreds of girls — native, Scotch, and 
Swedish — are employed "gutting." It Is very 
interesting to visit one of these stations and 

22 



'* Ultima ThuL 



»» 



to watch these skilled workers, dressed in sea- 
boots, oil-skins, and sou'westers, with a sharp 
knife in hand and their fingers wrapped in cot- 
ton to ward off the action of the salt. It is 
amazing to witness how quickly and deftly 
these girls dispatch the internals of Mr. Her- 
ring. Here they work from daylight to dark, 
and often beyond the dark. The fish are first 
brought from the drifters and placed in a large 
box on legs, called a "faurlin.'' The girls then 
set to work on them in "crews." A "crew" is 
made up of three — two "gutters" and one 
"packer." They live together throughout the 
season in houses of six or eight rooms, four 
or five girls sharing the same room. Their 
wages are abominably low, being only $2.50 
per week, with coals found and extra for over- 
time. Lassies, only "Shetland lassies," but 
every one of them a heroine ! Among the hills 
'neath the dear straw roofs are aged fathers 
and mothers, maybe crippled with rheumatism, 
sitting by the common peat fire, their latter 
days made bright alone by this love-toil of 
their girls. 

23 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

Scalloway, a quaint village of some eight 
hundred inhabitants, is the old capital and is 
about seven miles southwest of Lerwick. Here 
are the ruins of an ancient castle built by Earl 
Patrick Stewart in the year 1600. The Shet- 
lander has no good word for the builder. Sir 
Walter Scott in his "Pirate" says, "Folk speak 
muckle black ill of Earl Patrick." There is 
still to be seen the big iron ring from which 
the Earl used to hang all the "bits o' bodies 
that wadna do something he bade them." 

The "farthest north" town is North Roe, 
and it takes a Shetlander to pronounce the 
latter half of its name. Here is the nearest 
Wesleyan Methodist Church to the North 
Pole — the writer having preached there several 
times. What Nome is to Alaska, North Roe 
is to Shetland. Five miles from here is "Fetta- 
land," the grandest piece of rock scenery on 
all this rugged coast — an ocean battlefield in 
very truth. This is the farthest point of land 
in longitude one degree west of Greenwich; 
further north there is only eternal ice and snow. 

Walls, too, is an interesting village, and 

24 



" Ultima Thul( 



»» 



Voe, and Aith, and Vidlln, and Brae, and many 
others too numerous to mention. 

This wonderland — I call It such because I 
found It such — Is just so full of Interest and 
novelty that It would take a thick book to de- 
scribe It all. Let It suffice In this brief sketch 
to say that It has a charm, a peculiar charm, 
of its own; one leaves this land with deepest 
regret and remembers It with love and longing. 

"O Shetland, thy wild, rugged grandeur delights me, 
Thy dark-frowning crags ever lashed by the waves ; 
A halo of glory forever surrounds thee, 

Thou home of the hero, thou land of the brave." 



25 



Ill 

The Folks and Their Ways (I) 

THE Shetland people are folks of the sea, 
and there are no better folks in all the 
world than seafolk. Their life is one of hard- 
ship and toil, peril and chance; and the stern- 
ness of it all brings out all that is good and 
virile in them. The sea runs in their blood, 
and they love it and fear it. Its music to them 
is life; its harvests, their daily bread. And a 
rare happy life it is to live among them. 

The aggregate population of the thirty in- 
habited islands is about twenty-nine thousand 
people. They are a hardy race of sturdy 
Norse extraction. The accent in their talk is 
distinctly Scandinavian. It is thought that they 
still retain much of the likeness to the old vi- 
kings. Tudor says : "A finer race from a phys- 
ical point of view than the Shetlanders would 

26 



The Folks and Their Ways 

be hard to find. One can almost fancy, when 
standing at one of the fishing stations amongst 
these tall, keen-eyed fishermen, that the crews 
which manned the longships of the viking fleets 
have somehow come to life again; so little has 
the old Norse type been changed, as far as the 
peasantry are concerned. Good-looking, hand- 
some even at times as are the menkind, one 
occasionally sees amongst the women faces of 
the most beautifully refined cast, such as are 
to be found rarely, if ever, elsewhere amongst 
people of the same rank of life In the British 
Isles." 

They live mostly on small "crofts," or 
farms, reclaimed from the barrenness. The 
houses are built of stone, mostly one-story, with 
wooden, tar-felt covered roof, though many 
still retain the old straw thatch. There are 
but two, or three rooms at the most; both liv- 
ing-room and parlor (butt and ben) containing 
beds. The floor is of earth, and seldom level. 
The inside of the roof is jet black, and the 
walls are generally whitewashed, though some- 
times papered. Windows are prettily cur- 

27 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

tained and the geranium adds its cheeriness. 
In every house one sees the "spinning-wheel/* 
often two or three or four, for they too are 
bread-winners. The furnishing is very scanty, 
consisting of white-wood chairs and table, and 
a sea-chest or two. A kerosene lamp serves as 
illuminator, for during the winter the nights 
are dark and long. In December and January 
the sun sets about two-thirty in the afternoon, 
and does not rise until near ten in the morning. 
But in mid-summer it is light all the time, and 
one can sit in the house at midnight and write 
a letter without the aid of artificial light. Oc- 
casionally there are to be seen In these homes 
sights strange Indeed to southern eyes — a sickly 
calf or baby lamb brought In from the cold 
and tied to the table-leg, or chickens and ducks 
that seem to have a license to scavenge where 
they will. 

Shetland can boast no coal-mines, and not 
much is Imported. There are no trees, there- 
fore little wood, and none to burn. Peat Is 
burned universally. It Is first "cast" or cut out 
of the hills, then "cured" or dried in the sun 

28 



The Folks and Their Ways 

or wind, and finally stacked and thatched for 
the winter's supply. All over the land one 
can see the little black stacks which are indeed 
examples of native skill in the perfect thatch- 
ing. The oldest houses have the fire in the 
middle of the floor, with a hole in the roof to 
let out the smoke. If it should happen that 
the wind is in the wrong direction, it goes out 
at the door, but that does not matter. This 
central fire is now becoming somewhat rare. 
In most homes the fireplace is at the end of the 
house, with a chimney made of wood. A curi- 
ous fact is that these primitive fires seldom go 
out. My last night in this land was spent in 
a home where the fire had been burning for 
thirty years and never once been out. At bed- 
time the redhot peats are drawn together and 
several big new pieces of peat are laid on them, 
then the whole is covered with ashes. In the 
morning the new pieces have become bright 
red, and then the hearth is cleaned of ashes, 
and more new peats are added to the red ones. 
So the fire burns on from year to year. 

I must not give the impression, by this de- 

29 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

scription of Shetland homes, that all Shet- 
landers are poor. Many of them, it is true, 
live in the most pitiable poverty. Several come 
to my mind now, too, who live (?) on a shill- 
ing a week (25 cents), and an old woman who 
had not a single cent of income at the time of 
my meeting her, yet would not be said nay 
when she offered to knit me a pair of socks. 
There are also folks who are "well to do," 
though their "well to do" is a standard much 
different to that of some gentlemen we know, 
and remind one of the dialogue : 

"Do ye ken Jan Leask, o' Abernethy?" 

"O ay, I ken Jan, brawly." 

"Do ye ken Jan 's weel t' do? Jan 's gat a 
coo, an' Jan 's gat a soo, an' twixt nathin' an' 
nothin' Jan's fool worth saxteen poonds!" 

There is also a class of people in Shetland 
who do not need to work any more and who 
live in fine residences, but they are compara- 
tively few. 

It is to be noted, and with some emphasis, 
that amid all the poverty of this little land 
the natives are amazingly honest. A modern 

30 



The Folks and Their Ways 

millionaire could transfer his millions to the 
summit of Ronas Hill and leave them there un- 
protected, with no fear as to their safety. 
There is not a Shetlander (particularly of the 
peasant class) who would touch a cent belong- 
ing to any one else. 

Allen Moffatt — "a well-knowd man in th' 
Islands, yea, knowd fro' Muckle Flugga t' Sum- 
burgh" — was one day in Lerwick and walking 
Esplanade, when just below Fort Charlotte he 
saw a yard ahead of him a gentleman's mole- 
skin purse. Stepping up to it, he took it in 
his hand and opened it, and lo ! it was full of 
gold. No doubt at that moment there flashed 
through Allen's mind that the gold would pay 
all his debts to the merchant; buy his wife, 
Maggie, a new Sunday dress; fill to the full 
their larder for the winter; purchase for all 
the bairns shoes and stockings for Christmas, 
and assure a visit from the specialist to his 
daughter Mary, who was visibly dying of some 
malady they knew not what. Allen must have 
thought these things, because the Shetland men, 
though rough and stern in appearance, have 

31 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

hearts that beat tenderly. They are fathers 
like other men, and they love their children. 
But Allen was "a perfect and an upright man, 
one that feareth God and escheweth evil/' 
He was as honest as the best man; he would 
not even steal a pin. So, being really in no 
dilemma at all, he simply and firmly said, 
''No," and laying down the purse just where 
he had found it, he quietly and happily went 
on his way. 

The Shetlanders are a plain people and of 
necessity live most frugally. This plainness of 
diet has a logical consequence — they are gen- 
erally healthy and strong. The simplicity of 
their lives speaks eloquently for the great value 
of a simple life lived largely in the out-of-doors 
and sustained by a plain, healthy diet. From 
the standpoint of health there is no place bet- 
ter than Shetland. The summer is never more 
than warm, and the winter is never dangerously 
cold. I myself was never in better physical 
condition than when I lived there. Many were 
the journeys taken through rainstorms and 
blizzards; more often than not my shoes were 

82 



The Folks and Their Ways 

full of water, and time and time again was I 
drenched to the skin, but not once do I remem- 
ber taking cold or suffering in the least. Why 
was this? I am confident that this immunity 
was the result of the simple life I was then 
living. Much of the time was spent in pastoral 
visitation and journeying to preaching appoint- 
ments, either on foot or cycle, as there are no 
street-cars or railroad trains in Shetland. My 
food consisted solely of eggs, fish, potatoes, 
bran bread, oat-meal scones, and tea. The fish 
was generally either cured or fresh haddocks, 
though sometimes I would catch a nice mess of 
brown trout. Since that time I have lived in 
Sunny California with its world-famed salu- 
brious climate, its almost perpetual sunshine, 
and its high living, but never for a day have 
I felt as well. The staple foods of the Shet- 
lander are those enumerated above. Black tea 
is almost invariably used as a beverage. Alco- 
holic liquors are there, but seldom abused, ex- 
cept by foreigners, southerners, and those na- 
tives who first paid tribute to this Apollyon in 
foreign ports. 

3 33 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

About the beginning of the fifteenth century 
all the erudition of Spain said that somewhere 
in the Bahamas was a fountain of perpetual 
youth. Evidently no one ever found it, but 
had they transferred the search to the Shet- 
lands they might have met with better success, 
for the Shetlanders certainly are in possession 
of the secret of longevity. If it can not be said 
that they drink from a fountain of perpetual 
youth, they obviously draw from the wells of 
prolonged youth, for they live to a good old 
age. One often sees them at the age of eighty 
and eighty-five digging the "taties" (potatoes). 
They carry their age wonderfully well, remind- 
ing one of the saying: "If you go by my feel- 
in's, I 'm about thirty, but if you go by my 
yeers, I 'm sixty-seven. My feelin's an' my age 
is so far apart that they ain't bin on speekin' 
terms fer yeers." 

The Shetland women are not professional 
housekeepers, but they are expert homemakers. 
Housekeeping in advanced countries is com- 
mon, but homemaking seems to be rare. Two 
young folks lately married were asked by a 

34 



The Folks and Their Ways 

friend, "When are you to begin housekeep- 
ing?" The bride replied, "Never, I trust; we 
begin homemaking to-morrow." Meager habi- 
tations? Ah, yes; but nevertheless real homes. 
Here is where love reigns and where there is 
a genuine family fellowship. Many are the 
lads sailing the seven seas, or the lassies in the 
southland; and many the immigrants in far-off 
lands that carry with them immortal memories 
of home, "like the odor of crushed violets and 
the sound of Sabbath bells." It was such a 
memory that inspired a Shetlander in New 
Zealand to pen the ensuing lines : 

"Fair Islands, 'mid the Northern sea, 
My own dear Fatherland; 
O, how I long to tread again 
Thy radiant, peaceful strand! 

It can not be; my feet must stray 

Far from thy shores forever | 
Yet ties that bind my heart to thee 

Nought but death can sever. 

There is my dear old happy home, 

Where first I ope'd my eyes, 
Where a mother's loving kiss 

Did soothe my Infant cries. 
35 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

I dreamed not then of other lands, 

With brighter, sunnier skies; 
My Island Home was dear to me, 

The fairest in my eyes. 

And back to Thule's hills and dells 

In fancy's flight I roam; 
No other land is half so dear — 

My own, my native home. 

Thule, my native land, farewell; 

I think of thee and sigh; 
No change can wipe thee from my heart — 

Good-bye, dear land, good-bye!" 

In these island homes "mother" Is loved and 
revered. Nothing Is too good for her. She 
Is their angel. She Is their homemaker. She 
is queen In her own realm. 

"Home Is her kingdom, love her dower; 
She seeks no other wand of power 
To make home sweet, bring heaven near, 
To win a smile and wipe a tear, 
And do her duty every day 
In her own quiet place and way.'* 

Norman Duncan, In the prefatory note of 
his beautiful story, "Dr. Luke of the Labra- 
dor," says: "However bleak the Labrador, 

36 



The Folks and Their Ways 

however naked and desolate that shore, flowets 
bloom upon it. However bitter the despoiling 
sea, however cold and rude and merciless, the 
gentler virtues flourish in the hearts of the folk. 
. . . And the glory of the coast — and the 
glory of the whole world — is mother-love: 
which began In the beginning and has con- 
tinued unchanged to this present time — the con- 
spicuous beauty of the fabric of life : the great 
constant of the problem." And it is true that 
mother-love is also the glory of the Shetland 
Isles. They know that they can look on one 
good woman's face, and they reckon on the 
love of her. Her love, too. Is not spent in 
vain; it is reciprocated. There Is nobody In 
all the world like mother. How often have I 
seen the tear trickle, when conversing with a 
mother about "her WuUie" away from home; 
and many a time has she climbed the hill to 
scan the horizon to the souVest. 

At the head of a certain voe there Is a tiny 
hamlet with a background of great brown hills, 
which In June are covered with a purple splen- 

37 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

dor, and often lurid with the golden rays of 
a setting sun. It is a charming spot, has a wee 
cascade and two bonny burns, and is mysteri- 
ously unchangeable. No more than fifty in- 
habitants are there, all of the crofter class. 

At the center of this voe-head is a ness of 
land on which is built the quaintest homestead. 
Many years ago a ship was wrecked nearby, 
and among the debris that washed ashore was 
a case of wine. It is said that the bottles were 
broken on the rocks of the ness, and thus the 
jut of land was christened — Wineness. Let us 
visit this home. We have no sooner stepped 
out of the boat than we are met by "Carlo," 
the faithful shepherd of the sheep. He does 
not know us, so he barks ferociously. As we 
come near to the house we walk over the most 
uneven cobblestones. A maiden, sedate and 
somewhat shy, opens the door to us and bids 
us come in. Inside, sitting by the fire, is an 
old lady of some eighty summers, and right 
cordially she greets us. She is a Shetlander of 
the old stock. More than fourscore years have 
gone, but she is still young, and when the 

38 



The Folks and Their Ways 

weather is favorable she can be seen digging 
the "taties" with the rest of the folk. In 
speaking of the preceding stormy night, we 
notice that she calls it "distreen," and many 
other queer words she uses. She tells us of 
past hard times, and in her face we read the 
fortitude with which she fought them. She 
speaks rapidly, and one has to listen attentively 
to catch what she says. She knows her Bible 
from beginning to end, reciting lengthy chap- 
ters from an astounding memory, and holding 
up her hands in holy horror of the wicked. As 
we are about to leave she takes from the wall 
a crimson plush heart, and hugging it as a great 
treasure (for the world could never buy it), 
she tells us how a son who died away from 
home "made it wid 'is own 'ands" and sent it 
to her. It is a sacred emblem of the great love 
of this home and the passing of one to the 
Land of Light. 

And so in these scraggy straw-thatched huts 
there dwells a wondrous spirit; the same that 
molds and sways us from the cradle to the 
grave-^ — the angel-spirit Mother. 

39 



IV 

The Folks and Their Ways (II) 

THE writer of these sketches has been a 
rambler — a habit which has both its pleas- 
ures and its pains. He has also been some- 
thing of a prospector — not seeking gold or oil, 
but hearts to win. And just as there is di- 
versity in matters material, so there is diversity 
in things not material. There are different 
kinds of hearts, and men are as different as 
their faces. There are hearts of stubble, and 
hearts of stone, and hearts of oak, and hearts 
of gold. This latter quality he has found in 
the hearts of the Shetlanders. Of them it is 
true — they have hearts of gold. The gold of 
the heart is always discerned in the life; in its 
integrity, its love, its beneficence, its sacrifices. 
It is bright like refined gold and, like it also» 
it is mined by contact. 

40 



The Folks and Their Ways 

The Shetland people are hospitality 3.nd be- 
nevolence incarnate. They are truly a benefi- 
cent folk. They have *'the larger heart and 
the kindlier hand." Find yourself benighted 
and hungry on the hills; any light from a cot- 
tage window tells you that you are welcome 
there. A square meal, a warm bed, and a hot 
breakfast they will lovingly bestow on you. 
Though Shetlanders in general can not set a 
feast before the stranger, they give ungrudg- 
ingly what they do give. The Scriptures say, 
"God loveth a cheerful giver," and some exe- 
getes tell us that the Greek word translated 
^'cheerful" is of a most vigorous character and 
might have been translated "hilarious." Few 
there are in the world who give hilariously, but 
these Shetlanders are among the few. It is 
their nature to give like the sun and the flowers. 
They do not give for self-aggrandizement; they 
give secretly, and would shame to count it fame. 
I have know^n many who gave when they could 
ill afford it; one old lady who was receiving 
only a very small pension, thought it not too 
much to give ten shillings ($2.50) to the cause 

41 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

of Foreign Missions — a sum which must have 
been long in the saving. Such whole-hearted 
charity comes, with a sort of shock in these days. 
What a comparison to their rugged inhos- 
pitable shores, and the sterility of the "Old 
Rock!" Money and possessions are like fire 
and water; they make good servants but bad 
masters. 

On the west coast of the Isle Mainland, just 
in from St. Magnus Bay, there is a small vil- 
lage which is noted for its wealth of genius and 
romance, but more particularly for its benefi- 
cence. It is somewhat hidden and remote, and 
to reach it by water one must take the sound 
that has the Island of Muckle Roe on its north 
side and Vementry Isle on the south. The vil- 
lage Is situated at the head of the long voe to 
the southward. Its name Is Alth. Away to the 
west on the bleak hillside Is a little stone 
church, called by the folks who live on the 
crofts round about — "th' peerle klrk."^ So 
lonely and forsaken does It seem that one won- 
ders how ever It came to be a Methodist 

»"Peerie" is Shetlandic for "little." 

43 



The Folks and Their Ways 

church; and what is more mystifying still is 
that no one knows when it was built. It always 
was there, they say. Whoever the builder was, 
't is strange he should build it there, for it is 
in the midst of a sea of bogs and ditches, and 
there is not a road or footpath near it. The 
stranger thinks it surely must have dropped 
down out of heaven. Midway between the 
kirk and the voe shore is a solitary croft which 
is known as North Gardie. The house is the 
usual style, stone and straw-thatch, having a 
wooden porch with a storm-door on either side. 
The folks whose dwelling this is are the biggest- 
hearted folks that ever lived. Their home is 
ever open to the wanderer, and never a hungry 
soul has yet been turned away. It is the 
preacher's haven to this day, and has been so 
as far back as history tells. Besides father and 
mother there are several sons and daughters. 
The father — Immanuel Leask — is a quiet and 
humble man, whose fidelity to the little church 
would create a romance all its own. Without 
a cent of recompense he sweeps it; he makes 
the fires, providing the fuel; and often has he 

43 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

taken money from his own scanty purse to fill 
the lamps with oil. Many times was it the 
writer's privilege to stay the night in Immanu- 
el's home, and never did he stay in a home that 
was more hospitable. The preacher must have 
the best, and no pains were spared to make 
him comfortable. The bedroom was always 
nice and cosy, with a cheery little peat fire 
blazing on the hearth, and away down among 
the blankets there would be a wrapped-up 
heated brick diffusing its friendly warmth. 
Then in the morning, as we sat down to a royal 
breakfast of lamb chops, meal scones, and tea, 
Immanuel would say, ''Noo, sir, eat up an' 
give th' hoose a guid name." And that is the 
fine spirit that dominates all their dealings with 
the stranger. 

Aith, it has been said, is noted for its wealth 
of genius and romance. To tell of the latter — 
of a "maid o' th' mist" and matrimonial bogs 
and the trolls that stalk the place at midnight — 
is not the plan of these writings. It must some 
day be told in a tale of itself. 

In this same town of Aith, in the big house 

44 



The Folks and Their Ways 

by the store, there lives a youthful merchant of 
some thirty years, honest in business, skilled in 
the art of angling, an enviable preacher, and 
something of a poet at times. 

*'Jeems" is also a humorous man. "Let 's 
go fishing," said he to me one day, and after 
securing suitable equipment we went. How 
many fish the writer caught he will leave the 
reader to surmise. In a letter received one 
day last year, Jeems says : 

*'I still try to do a little trout-fishing, 
but have not done much this year — just 
been out three times. Do you remember 
the day we went to Vara Loch together — 
that you caught all the trout, until the 
water fell one inch around the sides of 
the Loch, so ^ great a multitude of fish' 
was hrot to land, both good and hadT' 

"Jeems" is full of wit and irony — an invet- 
erate joker is he. In the fall of 19 lo I left 
America for England intent to marry. Also 
did I intend a flying visit to my former far- 
north parishioners, but unfortunately circum- 
stances prevented. My friend Jeems — whom 

45 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

I am more than proud to call my friend — ob- 
viously had kept a lookout and was disap- 
pointed (though not a whit more than I) when 
I failed to arrive. Some time later he wrote 
me the following letter: 

*'My Dear Harold, — 

"I was glad to hear again from you. I 
could n't tell what had gone wrong, as I 
expected to hear of your arrival in Eng- 
land — ^but no, nothing but silence, and I 
began to guess what had become of you. 

^'Perhaps, thought I, he has fallen over- ' 
board and a great whale has swallowed 
him, and he is steering it in the directio.n 
of Thule's far-north isles. So I looked 
and looked, rising up early and looking 
for the appearance of a huge monster 
coming steaming up Aith Voe, with the 
Parson in question on board. But the 
three days and three nights came and 
went, and poor Jeems had to give up hope 
in that direction. 

"And then again he puzzled his mind, 
and knowing that his friend was a man of 
many exploits, he began to look in the sky. 
He got all the telescopes he could muster, 

46 



The Folks and Their Ways 

and employed many eyes — those who 
could see through nothing and those who 
could see through anything — and day and 
night a watch was kept for the appearance 
of a speck like unto a small bird, as it 
was expected that an aeroplane would be 
on its way to Aith with the Rev. Sir on 
its back. But again came disappointment. 
"And so the days wore on, and at last 
came a letter and a photograph, and be- 
hold ! everything is explained — our friend 
has been a journey into the land of matri- 
mony and taken unto himself a wife. 
May the blessing of Him who maketh 
rich and addeth no sorrow attend you 
both! is the earnest desire of 

"Yours very affectionately, 

"Jeems.'* 

On no account must it be left untold that 
the Shetlanders are a thrifty and industrious 
race. It has been said that they are shiftless, 
but that is altogether untrue. These hardy 
peasants are tireless workers. Hardly has the 
eastern sky taken on its first tinge of morning 
than the blue smoke of awakening peat-fires 

47 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

begins to ascend. In summer-time they work 
on the land till near midnight, for it is true 
that in June and July there is "no night there." 
And Shetland farms are not farms by decree 
of nature; much of the land is "bad land," and 
that which has been cultivated has been liter- 
ally "won from the wilderness" by dint of hard 
toil. Dr. Miller in one of his books tells of 
a clock in the Palace of Napoleon, Paris, which 
has over its dial the words, ^^Non nescit re- 
verti'^ (It does not know how to go back). 
One would think that this inscription was en- 
graved over every Shetland clock, judging by 
the industry of the folks. Wesley said, "Lei- 
sure and I have taken leave of each other." So 
have they taken leave of all idleness. The 
women particularly are redeemers of the time. 
I never saw a Shetland woman waste a minute. 
Everywhere one hears the humming of the 
"spinning-wheel," the swishing of the "cards," 
and the clicking of the needles, for it is by this 
industry — the manufacture of genuine Shetland 
hosiery — that most of them make ends meet. 
It is to be regretted that there is so much im- 

48 



The Folks and Their Ways 

position in respect to this hosiery. Not one 
thousandth part of the articles marked and sold 
as "Shetland Floss," "Shetland Wool," and 
"Shetland Hosiery" has ever seen the other 
side of the Atlantic Ocean. One reason is that 
the production of the islands is so small, and 
while it is true that much of the raw wool is 
sold to firms in Scotland who card and spin 
by machinery, it is also true that yarn thus 
prepared is much inferior to the genuine home- 
spun. To obtain the real article, one must 
purchase direct either from a merchant in the 
islands or from the homes of the knitters them- 
selves. Every woman and girl on the thirty 
islands knits and spins. Ever does one hear 
the music of the needles. What "Shetland 
lassies" will do in heaven if there Is no knit- 
ting, I do not know. If it was said that they 
are born knitting, it would be verily true. In 
so much that the statement embodies a settled 
psycho-physiological fact. There Is more 
truth than we realize in the doctrine of pre- 
natal Influences. The Shetland child — whose 
mother was knitting throughout the whole pe- 
4 49 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

riod of its embryonic state — develops a taste 
and ability for knitting when scarce its little 
fingers can hold the needles. And these won- 
derfully busy folks are not nominal knitters, 
either; they are experts. They are amojig the 
few who can really do two things at the same 
time. Seldom do they look at the knitting they 
have in hand. They look at you and talk; they 
read a book; they fetch home the cows — all 
to the tune of the needles. A familiar sight 
in the Islands is a "lassie" going o'er the hills 
— either to fetch provisions or to carry the 
peats — with outer skirt pinned up, a white 
handkerchief over her head, a kishie on her 
back, and knitting all the while. 

Shetland wool is unlike any other in the 
world; it is stronger than the strongest and 
softer than the softest. The sheep from which 
the wool is taken are exceedingly hardy crea- 
tures, for throughout the long, bitter winter 
they wander the hills in search of food. Hun- 
dreds of lambs perish every year in the snow- 
storms that come as late as June. There are 
four varieties of wool: white, gray, dark- 

50 



The Folks and Their Ways 

brown, and moorit; the latter color being a 
nut-brown. Once a year comes "rooing" time, 
when the wool Is "rooed," or gently pulled, 
from the sheep. The next part of the process 
is the "teasing," or pulling loose and slightly 
moistening with whale-.oll. Then it Is "carded" 
and spun. Spinning Is an art, and the wheels 
used by these descendants of the Norsemen are 
the same that their fathers used a thousand 
years ago. They call them "spinnles." 

Most wonderful of all Is the knitting of the 
famous Shetland shawls and bridal veils. In 
the year of Queen Victoria's jubilee two fair 
lassies of the Isle of Unst knitted a shawl and 
sent it to the queen. It has since been called 
the "Jubilee Shawl." The skein from which 
this choice fabric was made was composed of 
thirty thousand double threads. Shetland 
shawls are as soft as swan's down and glisten 
like polished ivory. As with the hosiery, their 
fair name Is to be found on foreign imitations. 
A genuine Shetland shawl — if properly cared 
for and cleaned In the right way — is a prize 
for life, and can be dressed and whitened many 

51 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

times without injury. It is said that the girls 
in the Isles of Yell and Unst can make shawls 
six feet square that will pass through a wed- 
ding-ring; and the patterns are not simple by 
any means, but of the most exquisite designs. 
In this day of immigration, when a motley 
throng is ever coming to progressive countries, 
the reader naturally asks what sort of immi- 
grant the Shetlander makes. Does he make 
a good American? Does he make a sturdy 
Australasian? He does, when he is given a 
fair chance. The percentage of immigrants 
from Shetland is very, very low, because it is 
so small a country and the people are so poor. 
It costs money to immigrate. The only Shet- 
land immigrants known personally to the 
writer are making good. Several of them hold 
fine positions, and others are fighting their way 
up. While in their hearts there is a tender 
love for the old land, they are at the same 
time making strong and patriotic citizens. 
Only recently did the writer meet a Shetland 
mother and her two little girls, who came out 
to the West a year and a half ago. The father 

52 




MAKING GOOD 

A NATIVE SON A SHIP's MASTER 

A GENTLEMAN LOVED BY ALL 



The Folks and Their Ways 

had preceded them some two years. This 
brave little woman left her home and loved 
ones in the Islands and came out to California 
— a trip of eight thousand miles. When one 
takes into account the desolate edge of the 
world from which she came, the practical igno- 
rance of the folk concerning the great world 
at large, the fact that she had never seen a 
tree, much less a street car or railroad train 
in all her life, the inconceivable bewilderment 
of such a one on such a journey — through 
Liverpool, New York, Chicago — her only com- 
panions the two baby girls, such an undertaking 
convinces us that the vikings are not dead yet ; 
their grit and courage are being handed down 
to us in their posterity. I found her by her 
husband's side in a charming California town, 
and together they are making good. 

Who shall tell what skill and genius lies dor- 
mant in the brains of this far north people? 
That which has had its opportunity has stood 
the test of the crucible of life. When Lord 
Nelson went into the "Battle of Trafalgar," 
his flagship Victory had for its helmsman a 

53 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

Shetlander. President McKinley's grand- 
mother was a native of Dunrossness, in the 
south of the Isle Mainland. Sir Robert Stout, 
ex-premier of New Zealand, is also a Shet- 
lander; and many, many others have risen to 
positions of responsibility and honor. 



54 



V 

A God-Fearing Race 

IN Shetland there are Methodist, Presbyte- 
rian, Congregational, and Baptist Churches. 
Being under British rule and nearest to Scot- 
land, the Presbyterian is the State Church. In 
Lerwick and in the Island of Yell there is, I 
beheve, an Episcopal Church. At the time of 
the writer's leaving there was no Roman Cath- 
olic work whatever. 

Methodism in Shetland has a glorious his- 
tory, for her early preachers were noble and 
consecrated men. They were ministers in the 
grandest and fullest sense of the word; not in 
the pulpit only, but also out of it. Each one 
was evangelist, pastor, teacher, and servant to 
the folks whose shepherd he was. Though the 
venerable Wesley himself never visited the 
Islands, such men as Drs. Adam Clarke, Mc- 

55 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

Allum, Knowles, and Revs. Sinclair, Matthew- 
son, Raby, and Dunn itinerated there. And 
in those days the life of a Methodist preacher 
was not as comfortable as it is to-day. From 
the Journals of the Revs. Raby and Dunn I 
append three short extracts : 

*'Oct. 29th. — This morning I rode five miles 
to Tingwall; it rained every step of the way. 
Many of my hearers came from a considerable 
distance, and returned through torrents of rain; 
most of the women without either bonnet, shoe, 
or stocking. After they were gone I sat by 
the fire for about half an hour, tired, wet, and 
hungry, but not knowing where to get a bit of 
anything to eat . . .'* 

"Nov. 14th. — Last night I slept with three 
sheep on the earthy floor of an old barn. 
There were two holes in the turf roof, about 
a foot each in circumference, through which 
the stars were visible. It blew a strong breeze 
from the S. W., but as I had a thick rug 
wrapped around me I slept as comfortably as 
most who lay on softer beds. The hymn which 
begins, 'How do Thy mercies close me round?' 
was particularly sweet.'* 

56 



A God-Fearing Race 

*'Nov. 24th. — This morning I felt very un- 
well; whether it was from eating small sillocks, 
drinking mossy water, a change of climate, or 
excessive exertion, I know not. At ten o'clock 
I lay down again on the bed, but at twelve, the 
time at which I was appointed to preach, the 
friends came to me saying that people were 
coming from every direction to hear me, and 
that several had arrived from places nine or 
ten miles off ; so I got up and went to the church 
(Sandness), but found it difficult to get in, it 
was so crowded. ... I have preached thirty 
sermons in the last fourteen days." 

The missionary in the Shetland of to-day 
may live any kind of life he wishes. Fie may 
kill himself with arduous toil or he may bring 
about the same end by laziness. If he is any 
sort of preacher at all, he will get fair con- 
gregations; but should he assume the parson 
and the better-bred — in other words, should 
he not make himself one with the common folk 
— -he will not be worth a snap of the fingers 
at his job. On the other hand, if he will love 
them as his own soul, and ever seek to help 
them, there is not a thing that they will not 

57 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

do for him. He will be everything to them, 
and he will surely accomplish his Master's 
business. But here as in all other lands the 
Christianity that takes hold must be one of 
practice. It is the "cup of cold water," the 
coin left under the plate, the soothing or ex- 
tracting of an aching tooth, the carrying of a 
kishie^ for the sick or the aged, and the Christ- 
mas gift to the bairns that tell most. They can 
appreciate a sermon — ay, that they can — and 
go home carrying "the points" — hut these con- 
crete acts stick longest. 

Shetland in many respects is like Labrador. 
While it is a really healthy country, there is, 
nevertheless, sickness to be found there, though 
nowhere near so much as in Labrador. But 
what sickness there is seems to be bred of the 
same cause; just the same story of sad con- 
ditions. Poverty, some uncleanliness, and lack 
of modern sanitation and ventilation have, as 
they invariably do, invited disease. There are 
many cases of rheumatism, and occasionally 
one hears the hard cough and sees the flushed 

» Native basket carried on the back. 

58 



A God-Fearing Race 

and hollow cheek which unmistakably tell that 
the Great White Plague is there. There Is 
need for medical aid, and to meet It each parish 
has a medical practitioner; but the greater need 
is the teaching of the principle that "preven- 
tion is better than cure." The missionary, 
therefore, must not only preach a spiritual sal- 
vation from sin, but a physical one from dis- 
ease. He must teach not only righteousness, 
but hygiene. For Instance, there Is the care 
of the teeth. As a result of Ignorance and 
neglect, dental carles set in early, and when 
the bitter wind comes down from the Arctic 
It soon finds the decaying cavity, and pain 
ensues. There Is but one dental surgeon to 
twenty-nine thousand people. Should the 
writer of these sketches in the wise provi- 
dence of God be permitted to return to this 
land (and It Is a cherished desire within his 
heart that he shall). It Is his plan to practice 
as a missionary of the Cross and a dental sur- 
geon combined. Of necessity It would need be 
purely missionary work, as the natives have 
little or no money to pay out for dental service. 

59 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

The Shetland missionary must be willing to 
clean and paint his own church, if need be, 
to ring the bell, and play the organ, and preach, 
and do all himself. He may have to pull a 
heavy boat across rough sounds to his appoint- 
ments, and find his hands bleeding with the 
chafing of the oars. Should he be a musician, 
he will find it exceedingly helpful; should he 
know anything of medicine, his pills and lo- 
tions and dressings will bless. But there is 
little remuneration; it must be for the love of 
God. Nevertheless it is great good fortune to 
have the privilege of holding up the banner 
here. 

Gliding Into Gonfirth Voe one Monday 
morning was a smack of a peculiar kind. She 
hailed from Orkney, and this was not her first 
visit; she had skirted the Shetland coast for 
years. Her name is forgotten, but she is fa- 
miliarly known as "The Floating Shop." Once 
a month her skipper brings a goodly cargo of 
provisions and trades them for hosiery, eggs, 
and the like. Her crew willingly transport In- 
tending traders In their small punt to the 

60 



A God-Fearing Race 

"Shop," and a jolly set of men they are. The 
morning of which this is written had been a 
time of business. Among those who had done 
"their bit" was an old maiden lady of some 
eighty summers, familiarly known as "Je- 
mima." A kishie, containing "a scar o' this an' 
a peerie corn o' that," was landed along with 
her on the shingly beach. Its destination was 
a scraggy old hut by the side of a burn, about 
a quarter of a mile up the hill. How the kishie 
was to be transferred from the shore to the 
house was the all-absorbing question to Je- 
mima. She could not carry it, if it never got 
there — that was sure. Waiting at the landing 
for his turn to go shopping was the chronicler 
of this incident, and while waiting, he himself 
transferred the kishie to the home. It was 
nothing at all — just what any man would have 
done — but to this day Jemima has not ceased to 
sing her praises of the "Peerie Munister," as 
she lovingly calls him. And when the eastern 
breezes blow and her letter comes, these words 
are written: 



61 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

"Dear Rev. Grimsha: 

*'I am very hapy to av the upertunity 
of writin to you, but I am sory you are 
gone so far away, so very llkly you will 
never cary my kusy agen mor I was hop- 
ing you to comeback to Shetland agen. 
Johanna is sick not like to get beter but I 
most be content what ever the Lord is 
plassd to lay on. With love to you I must 
be don." 

Was it not worth while? Jemima's letter, 
illiterate though it be, has caused the joy-bells 
of my heart to ring again and again, and I 
have learned that the path of humble service 
is the Master's highway of joy. This is the 
sort of preaching these folks need most, and 
the sort they appreciate. "Unwritten ser- 
mons," as Dr. Grenfell calls them. Jesus said, 
"He who will be your minister, let him be 
servant of all." It is very true "that whatever 
work one volunteers to make his own, he must 
look upon as his ministry to the race." 

The Shetlanders, as a result of their home 
training and nature's environment, are Inclined 

62 



A God-Fearing Race 

toward things that are good. Morally, they 
reach a high standard. In general, they are 
truly a God-fearing race ; and it is to the sweet 
simplicity of the home-life and the kindly in- 
fluences of the sea and the hills that they owe 
this heritage. During my sojourn there I saw 
only three men under the influence of the drink, 
two of whom had learned the habit in foreign 
ports; and only twice did I hear any one make 
use of profanity, and then it was just the talk- 
ing of the whisky demon within. 



63 



VI 

Kindly Hearts o' Gonfirth 

SOMEBODY has said that when God made 
the Sahara, He made it in His anger, and 
then forgot it. The same unkindly thing has 
been said about Iceland. One does not ex- 
perience much difficulty in thinking a similar 
thought concerning old Gonfirth, for of all the 
forgotten places in the world it is the spot of 
all spots desolate and forbidding. Here Is dire 
lonesomeness, with strange Immutability — "as 
It was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall 
be" — but it is notable because of the goodness 
of the folks who live there. Gonfirth was the 
center of the writer's ecclesiastical field. It 
was here that he lived the life of a lonely 
bachelor, carrying his own peats, fetching his 
water from the wells round about, cleaning and 

64 



Kindly Hearts o' Gonfirth 

painting the little church, and desperately striv- 
ing to acquire the art of cooking. But though 
a training-ground in the culinary line, it was 
also a school in which were taught the secrets 
of happiness and soul conquest. It was here 
at lonely Gonfirth that the missionary of the 
wild learned the sweetness of life and the joy 
of a glad love-service; it was here that he 
learned to lean on God and to be integral in 
respect to his life's purpose. Taking long, 
wearying journeys on foot, dressed in sea-boots 
and oilskins, tramping miles over boggy and 
treacherous moors, and crossing sounds and 
voes till the hands bled with the chafing of 
the oars — only to find congregations (in win- 
ter) of sometimes half a dozen — meant to him 
the sure development of the man physically, 
psychologically, and spiritually. 

The following characters are folks well 
known in Gonfirth and the district round about. 
They are still there, living out their simple life 
of contentment among the hills and on that 
rugged shore. 

5 65 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

Christian Neilson. 
Climb the hill to the west, then take a course 
due south or a little to the southwest, over the 
undulating heather-clad moor. You will find 
it hard traveling, for where it is not boggy 
you will have to jump deep peat-pits, out of 
which the peats for many years have been cut. 
If you see a patch of green, greener and ap- 
parently firmer than all the rest, be sure and 
do not step on it — give it a wide berth — it is 
a floating bog. Some two miles across this 
waste, built on the edge of a cliff, you will 
come to a solitary "croft." It is a good place 
to stay for a refreshing drink of tea, and if 
you are known to be genuine you will receive 
a welcome that you can never forget. It is 
the home of Christian Neilson, a God-fearing 
son of the soil. He is now gray and stoops 
a little, but his eyes are as clear and as honest 
as any man's. Everybody loves Christie, and 
he is looked up to by all, for, true to his name, 
he is an exemplary Christian man. He will 
take you by the hand, and it will be some time 
before your fingers will regain their worka- 

66 



Kindly Hearts o' Gonfirth 

billty; then he will say, "God bless yo — come 
yo ben Mester." And in that cozy little room 
(and your tramp across the moor will have 
given you a Shetland appetite) they will set 
before you the cleanest and most wholesome 
meal in all the world. Christie Nee'son — as 
the folks call him — when younger, spent much 
of his time in Greenland as a whaler, but for 
many years now has stayed at home and super- 
intended the working of the "croft." His wife, 
a saintly woman, is an invalid — a victim to 
chronic rheumatism. There are also in the 
home two married daughters, a son, and a 
happy group of children. 

It is the Sabbath and near time for evening 
service. The writer, as missionary, has just 
rung the last bell. The night is very dark and 
the rain is beginning to drizzle and the wind 
to howl. As yet, no one has come, and the 
likelihood of a congregation seems remote; so, 
after waiting a while, before turning out the 
lights, he goes to the outer corner of the en- 
closure to take a last lookout for any one who 

67 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

may be coming. No, there Is no one. Walt! 
What is that? Surely, there is a light! Over 
on the ridge of the hill to the west is the tiny 
light of a hurricane lamp, swinging; now up 
on a knoll, now down in a hollow out of sight. 
Who can it be? Whoever can it be on such 
a night? Nearer and nearer comes the light 
till it is within the churchyard gate. Carrying 
the lantern is a man of medium height, clad 
in oilskins, sea-boots, and sou'wester. A mo- 
ment later, and the flickering light of the porch 
shines on the stranger's weatherbeaten face. 
Who is it? It is Christian Neilson. 

Christie and the missionary were the only 
two in the congregation that night, and it was 
not the first time they had worshiped alone 
together. The service indeed was short, but 
peculiarly fitting. First they sang a part of 
the hymn that begins: 

"Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom 
Lead Thou me on; 
The night is dark, and I am far from home; 
Lead Thou me on." 



68 



Kindly Hearts o' Gonfirth 

Then followed a reading of Psalm Twenty- 
seven, after which they prayed, and closed with 
the stanza : 

*'So long Thy power hath blessed me; sure it still 
Will lead me on 
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till 
The night is gone." 

Christian Neilson was and is to-day a man 
ever to be relied upon. He is a saint at Gon- 
firth, and one of God's gentlemen. 

The Duncans o' Grobsness. 

Following the shore around the voe-head, 
and then along to the north for about a hun- 
dred yards, one comes to an old footpath worn 
hard and smooth by the constant use of the 
children coming and returning from school. 
At this point it is a series of steps up, then 
along by the fence for about thirty yards, 
where it turns in at a "grind,"^ and then up 
the hillside, becoming narrower and narrower, 
till it is just a slippery sheep-track — nothing 
more. Follow it for some little distance and 

^A gate. 

69 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

you will come to a picturesque hamlet nestling 
in a sheltered hollow. This is Grobsness, and 
here reside six or seven families. It is about 
the folks who live in the whitewashed house 
in the center of the place that I want to tell. 
The Duncan home is a model home, noted 
for its cleanliness and thrift. The father, 
Thomas Duncan, has passed beyond the veil; 
but the mother, though fast aging, still lives. 
She is a good woman and an ideal mother, 
and her great faith in God and providence 
are remarkable, while everything and every- 
body share in her love. She is the picture of 
neatness and always is she busy treadling her 
big Norwegian spinning-wheel. There are two 
daughters: Mary and Williamina; and three 
sons: Oliver, George, and Nicholas. And 
what sons they are! reminding one of "Jack 
and the Beanstalk," or else the text, "There 
were giants in the earth in those days." Just 
what "altitude" they reach I do not know, but 
they are exceedingly tall. At a distance it 
would be difficult to tell one from the other, 
but near at hand they are easily distinguish- 

'^0 



Kindly Hearts o' Gonfirth 

able. Oliver is clean-shaven about the chin^ 
though he grows a mustache; George — or 
"Geordie," as he is familiarly called — boasts a 
heavy red-brown beard (his name should have 
been Rufus) ; while Nicholas, a man of some 
ability and a deep-sea man in times gone by, 
has hair and beard jet black. Oliver is a car- 
penter and, like his brother George, who is a 
farmer, combines the occupation with the fish- 
ing. Nicholas keeps a store by the water's 
edge and sells bread, tea, biscuits, and all man- 
ner of things. But in addition to this he has 
another source of remuneration. One day, 
when visiting him, he said to me, "Before you 
go, Mr. Grimshaw, I want to show you my 
whelk farm." 'Whelk farm?" thought I. 
I had heard of cow farms and poultry farms, 
and even ostrich farms; but whelk farm! I 
suppose my face betrayed my puzzled brain, 
and I remember experiencing some difficulty in 
keeping back my laughter. But, following the 
inevitable "scar o' tea," I went down with him 
to a rocky part of the fore-shore, where (in 
some way still mysterious to me), he had suc- 

71 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

ceeded in getting a great colony of whelks/ or 
periwinkles, as they are sometimes called. 
There they were In thousands clinging to the 
rocks. 

"And what do you do with them, Nicholas?" 
I asked. "Oh," he rephed, "when they gets 
big enough I puts 'em in bags an' sends 'em 
t' London market." 

On snowy days, when scarce a handful would 
get to church, I could invariably count on Nich- 
olas. His great, tall figure could be seen trudg- 
ing along the old path, and always did he seem 
so glad to come. And his Christianity was not 
merely one for convenience: it was a religion 
that meant sacrifice to him. Every six months 
he sent what money he could spare to Dr. Bar- 
nardo's Home, In London, and the little or- 
phans there correspond with him; and just how 
Nicholas loves those children and their letters 
it Is Impossible for pen to tell. 

He is a most remarkable man for knowledge 
of the world and for goodness. The half-hour 
chats I used to get with him were always so 

^A species of shell fish. 

Y2 



Kindly Hearts o' Gonfirth 

encouraging, for Nicholas is not pessimistic: 
he is ever a cheerful optimist. 

Jemima and Johanna. 

Gonfirth is truly an antiquated place, for it 
has no respectable foot-paths, no roads, no gut- 
ters, no street lamps, no piers, no anything that 
modern civilization has invented. Instead of 
foot-paths and roads there are sheep-tracks; 
instead of public lamps there are the tiny lights 
of cottage windows; and instead of piers one 
sees a line of stepping-stones, which the folk 
who live in closest proximity proudly call "our 
pier." Of course, there are no regularly- 
constructed boat-slips, by which to transfer 
heavy boats to the water's edge; only a series 
of whale-ribs laid crosswise, which, being of a 
slippery nature, cause the keel to slide rather 
than drag. 

Leaving the church by way of the east, we 
strike across the hill till we come to a rickety 
old "grind," at the other side of which, some 
few yards ahead, there is a rushing burn. In 
Gonfirth there are two burns, each flowing 

73 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

from south to north, one on the east side of 
the village and one on the west; but it Is the 
east side one that is the important one, be- 
cause it is biggest and has a waterfall, and on 
its banks are the dwellings of the folk. 

We cross this burn and follow Its course till 
within some fifty yards of the waterfall; then, 
turning to the right, we climb a low fence and 
jump from boulder to boulder, thereby again 
reaching the other side of the burn. We then 
climb a cobbly apology for a road, and, pass- 
ing through another "grind," arrive at a mis- 
erable little cottage half sunken in the ground. 
It is a quaint old shack, almost pre-historic In 
design and fittings. No matter how diminutive 
you may be, you will have to stoop consider- 
ably to get In at the door, and from the door 
to the little peat-fire It Is an ascent of one in 
six. In the poor illumination one can discern 
a bed made of unplaned timber, with coverlets 
of cheap blankets and a sheepskin or two. 
There are also a couple of whitewood chairs 
and a three-legged stool, now black with age 
and grime. Hanging from the celling (which 

74 



Kindly Hearts o' Gonfirth 

is black with peat-smoke) can be seen bunches 
of dried fish — the winter's supply; and in the 
corner by the window is an old cask in which 
are kept tea, oatmeal, and bread. The walls 
are not papered, not even lime-washed, and 
the floor is earthen and as uneven as the very 
sea. 

Here there dwelt two maiden ladies, both 
full eighty years of age and victims of chronic 
rheumatism. There also abode here a steel- 
gray cat with big yellow eyes, and six white 
mice, which were a constant terror to the 
"lassies" of the place when occasionally they 
dropped in to "sit a start" with the old maids. 
(In the Islands there is said to be six times as 
many women as men, and in going in and out 
among the natives one does meet with quite a 
number of old maids, who are living either 
alone or with a sister or friend in little miser- 
able huts sometimes not more than eighteen 
feet square.) 

The names of these elderly bodies (we will 
say) were Jemima and Johanna, and the cat's 
name was Jimmy. The mice, too, were all 

75 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

christened, but their names are now long since 
forgotten. Jemima was eldest and was man- 
aging directress of household affairs. She was 
slightly taller than Johanna, and her hair was 
gray. She was almost a cripple and was ex- 
ceedingly short-sighted, and always made use 
of a crutch. Johanna was the more peculiar 
in appearance, and she seemed to be somewhat 
subordinate to the dictates of her sister, though 
't is true that they loved each other more than 
tongue can tell. Johanna's hair was black, and 
her skin was very brown. She was a well- 
known figure at old Gonfirth, and every morn- 
ing between the hours of nine and ten could 
she be seen trudging down the hill below the 
loch with a great kishie of peats on her back. 
And then, everybody for miles round "kenned" 
Johanna, because at "rooing" time (the time 
when the wool is taken from the sheep) she 
would pay them all a visit, and each, as their 
custom was, would give her a little of their 
wool. 

These two lived together in the shack just 
by the burn, and while it is true that they were 

76 



Kindly Hearts o' Gonfirth 

woefully poor, it is also true that they were 
no exception to that wondrous characteristic 
of their fellow islanders — they had hearts of 
gold. Often at the end of a long, hard journey 
from North Roe (a trip of thirty miles through 
high winds and pouring rain or snow, and that 
on foot and cycle, the latter being of little use 
in such weather) did the writer step into Je- 
mima's antiquated home for the "cup o' tea 
and the peerie scone" that he knew were await- 
ing him. And what tea it was I The like of 
it is never seen in progressive lands. It was 
"black" tea — ^truly as black as "Steven's Ink." 
And it was strong — yea, indeed — for, if the 
plain truth must be told, it was seasoned with 
cloves. But no matter how black, no matter 
how strong — to the missionary, wet to the skin 
and cold to the bone, and with an appetite like 
the grumbling of a volcano, it was verily good. 
And tired as he was, he would "sit a start" and 
against his will would fall asleep. Just what 
movements were made during those "forty 
winks" are unknown to him, but he would 
wake up with a Shetland "hap" (shawl) about 

77 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

his shoulders. Ah, yes ! Jemima and Johanna 
were kind and good. 

It is Sunday evening, and already the sun 
is spilling his golden wine among the clouds. 
The sea has been a mirror to-day, and just 
now the tide is returning; amid the stillness 
there is heard the lullaby of the shingle and 
the hoarse cry of the gulls. It is an evening 
superb, but it is an evening of shadows. There 
is, too, a sad moaning of the sea, and the wave- 
lets are saying something. Near, quite near, 
is a strange boatman, and he is waiting, wait- 
ing. And in the shack beyond the grind, the 
shack that is ever so old, there is an atmos- 
phere of expectancy mingled with watching. 
Johanna Tait lies a-dying. 

Inside, sitting by the bed, is Jemima, and 
also there is a group of friends. They have 
delayed to light the lamp because the glory of 
the setting sun shines in at the window. It is 
an earthly glory, symbolical of a heavenly one. 

"Mima," says Johanna, "do ye ken the 
bonny light shinin' in on us?" 

78 



Kindly Hearts o' Gonfirth 

"I do," replies the sister; " t' is the seUing 
o' th' sun, ye ken." 

"Nay, 't is not," says the waiting soul; " 't is 
reflection o' the' golden streets o' 'eaven." 

Jemima's tears begin anew to flow. 

A paroxysm of coughing seizes the poor 
frame on the bed, and it is some time before 
she can speak again. Soon, however, she 
says: 

"Mima, is de sittin' by me bed?" 

"Aye, Joan," assures the sister. 

"Can ye no 'ear th' lovely angils singin' 
round th' throne? 'T is sure pratty music, 
Mima." 

"See!" she cries, "the gates o' pearl is 
openin' an' a bonny angil is beckonin' me 
come." 

By this time the fountain of the deep was 
broken up in the hearts of the watchers, and 
the last of the sun was peeping o'er the hills 
to the west. Still, far into the night did Jo- 
hanna Tait linger, and still, all unseen, did the 
boatman wait. 

It was just after midnight when the end 

■ 79 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

came. She did not speak again till a moment 
before her death, when she whispered: 

"He 's comin'. He 's comin' now for Joan." 
I, being one of the watchers, was tired and 
sleepy, and as I dozed I dreamed that the 
strange boatman had gone; and waking imme- 
diately, I found that Johanna had just died. 

And methinks that when they reached the 
other shore they were met by the shining ones, 
and Johanna Tait, the poor, hard-working but 
golden-hearted Shetlander — amazed beyond 
conception by the sight of angels and the 
grandeur of the city — was led through the 
heavenly streets to the throne of her Redeemer, 
there to see His face and be glad. 



80 



VII 

Barbara 

IT was on the eleventh of January that the 
Methodist Mission of Junis Voe held a cele- 
bration. It was partly a banquet of farewell to 
their missionary, who was leaving the Islands 
for Canada, and in part it was intended to 
commemorate the advent of the new year, for, 
following the old Norse customs, Christmas 
Day in Shetland comes on the fifth of January 
and New Year's Day on the twelfth of Janu- 
ary. 

The summer previous had been a miserable 
one, and so far the winter had been exception- 
ally severe. In fact, from late in October to 
the day of which I write there had been noth- 
ing but storms and hurricanes of wind and fog, 
of snow and ice, of thunder and rain. So 
6 81 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

tempestuous had December been that the folks 
had literally to tie down the haystacks with 
rope, and to save the roofs of their dwellings 
they had weighted them down with great 
stones. The night before the banquet had been 
the worst that even the oldest inhabitant could 
remember. What with buffeting winds and 
terrific peals of thunder and blue blinding 
flashes of lightning, it had been terrifying. 
The waves had run mountain-high, higher than 
ever they had run before; but there had been 
no snow, though torrents of rain. Old Tommy 
Sinclair and Magnus Anderson were caught on 
their way from Brae, and had been compelled 
to seek shelter under Johnny Hall's "six in 
hand," which for the winter Johnny had turned 
over and weighted down with rocks and pieces 
of iron and the like. Amos Smith's store had 
been flooded, it being much too near the shore 
for such a gale, and no end of trawlers and 
smacks had broken from their moorings, while 
in Orkney a cloud had burst and rain had been 
incessant. But as Magnus said (and he was 
the prophet of the neighborhood) , "The ways 

82 



Barbara 

o' Providence was pas' findin' out/' for about 
ten o'clock in the morning the clouds blew 
away, and during the whole of the day not a 
drop of rain fell or any disagreeable wind 
blew. "But," said Magnus, "it was only like 
the good Lard to plant 'iz footsteps on the 
storm, kuz 'e auredy kenned about their ceb- 
leration, an 'e needed no to be reminded con- 
sarning thad." It was certainly phenomenal, 
for there could never be two days more unlike 
than the day before the banquet and that last 
day in the old year. 

All day long there had been a busy time at 
the little church. The missionary labored with 
the decorations; also tuning the little organ 
and fixing a new chain to the old bell. Those 
of the folks who had promised bread, flour- 
cakes, oat-meal scones, etc., busied themselves 
with baking, while the lads of the place fetched 
provisions from the store. At about three 
o'clock the sun went down, for on our coast 
the winter-nights are long. At five the first 
bell rang. There was to be one at five, one 
at six, and one at seven. In a porch window 

83 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

of the church the missionary's lamp burned 
brightly, for it had been a custom of his always 
to have a light shining out on the voe. Junis 
Voe has no street lamps — indeed, there are no 
streets to light. The lamp burning in the 
church window had somehow made things less 
lonesome for the folks, so they said. The 
evening was fine and bright, and the Aurora 
Borealis flashed and shot across the heavens, as 
though the elements too were conspiring to 
make us glad. The northern lights In the 
Islands are called the "Merry Dancers," and, 
say some of the old folks, " 't Is th' spirits o' 
th' dead at play." The second bell rang, and 
soon was heard the clanging of the third. 
Long before the appointed time the more en- 
ergetic membership had gathered. There were 
the Housten girls from the West Side, and 
Christina and Helga Christiansen from the 
"Moon;" the "Moon" being a little house far 
away on the summit of a hill, some short dis- 
tance from the Isle Linga. There were also 
Herbert Manson and Theodore, his brother. 
Herbert was bookkeeper at Amos Smith's 

84 



Barbara 

store and had "some larnlnV' which un- 
doubtedly had secured for him that position. 
And, strange to say, though a British subject, 
he had extremely democratic views, and held 
with gifted Bobby Burns that "a man 's a man 
for a' that." 

Herb's brother Theodore was a youth of 
peculiar appearance and more peculiar gait. 
He, too, had "some larnin','' but he had spe- 
cialized in the "star line," being (in his way) 
something of an astronomer. 

These, with many others, made up the crowd 
on this particular New Year's Eve. 

But one was there who was a stranger. He 
was unlike a native of our Islands in more 
senses than one. His dress was smart and of 
tourish fashion. Though we never learned in 
what capacity he visited us, in every outward 
appearance he seemed to be a gentleman. Al- 
ways did he appear to be interested in our ways, 
though a certain sly look in his eyes some way 
led us to distrust him. While in our midst he 
paid much attention to one of our "lassies" 
named Barbara Hughes. 

85 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

Barbara was the daughter of old Dannie 
Hughes, who for years had followed the call- 
ing of a whaler up in Davis Straits. It was 
just twelve months previous to her meeting the 
^'stranger" that Barbara had returned from a 
visit to relatives in Edinburgh. Full of the 
new life of the Scottish metropolis, she natu- 
rally fancied the admiration and attention of 
a smartly-dressed gentleman — many of whom 
she had seen and met in Edinburgh — to a plain, 
ilhterate fisher-lad of her native land. Then, 
too, Barbara was no ordinary girl. Though 
born and raised on a humble croft, she was 
admired and loved by every one. Her face 
had a noble cast, and her beautiful black tresses 
were such as many a duchess would have been 
glad to own. Her eyes like sapphires sparkled 
with the vigor of early and beautiful woman- 
hood. Never did she appear with hair un- 
kempt or slattern's dress; always she was neat 
and clean. 

'Tike a jewel were her eyes, 
Like red coral were her lips." — 

86 



Barbara 

I must not let my pen run away with me in 
describing Barbara, though it would be an easy 
thing. When Prince Ferdinand was at labor 
and there passed by Miranda, her beauty was 
so enchanting that, to him, "spring seemed a 
lesser loveliness." Exclaimed the prince*, "O 
you wonder! whether you be maid or no;" and 
Miranda, who was wishing for a lover, replied, 
"No wonder, sir, but certainly a maid." And 
somehow I think that when Tudor wrote that 
"here one occasionally sees among the women- 
kind faces of the most beautifully-refined cast" 
he must have caught a glimpse of Barbara. 
Poor Barbara ! Little did she know the 
heartbreak and calamity that her new-found 
"stranger lover" was to bring to her. 

The evening's entertainment had begun and 
had been organized into three sections. First 
there was to be a musical hour, then a series 
of games, and finally the welcome of the New 
Year out in the church grounds. It was not 
a classic musical by any means, but it was the 
best "scratched up affair" anywhere within 
twenty miles of the voe. First of all a hymn 

87 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

was sung ; then prayer ; then another hymn, fol- 
lowed by a humorous reading by Thora Hous- 
ten. Then the Moffatt boys entertained the 
company with their phonograph, and Theodore 
Manson told his usual "story of the stars." 
The missionary played an organ solo, followed 
by more items; and then supper was served, 
after which the room was cleared, and whole- 
heartedly began the games, which with great 
hilarity proceeded till near midnight. "Bokie 
Blind," "Hunt the Slipper," and a dozen other 
mazes kept all in a state of great excitement. 
At just one minute to twelve all trooped out 
into the open air, and at twelve just a rifle-shot, 
a many-colored rocket, and the ringing of the 
bell announced that another year had gone for- 
ever, and that a new one with its opportunities 
and responsibilities had come. The scene that 
followed is almost indescribable. Never in all 
his life did the writer see such hearty shaking 
of hands and heads, and such excited wishing 
of "A Happy New Year." The missionary 
for the last time was affectionately bid good- 
bye and God speed, and all went home In 

88 



Barb 



ara 



groups, singing songs known only in that land. 
It had been a joyous time, indeed. 

• *• • ■ • • • 

Early in the fall of that same year — one 
dark, rainy midnight — there could have been 
seen staggering along the road which leads 
from Junis Voe to the Parish of Wrath a de- 
crepit old man with a lighted lantern in his 
hand. It was old Dannie Hughes. He was 
evidently in great trouble, for he was crying, 
and crying aloud. From one side to the other 
he staggered, and ten times he fell on the stony 
road. His wails were the wails of a breaking 
heart. Sometimes his grief seemed unbearable, 
and he cried, "O my God, my bonnie Barbe; 
my bonnie Barbe; my God, my God!" 

The resident physician of the Parish of 
Wrath at this time was Dr. Reginald Simpson, 
a man with a big heart and of repute for his 
skill. He had of late, for health reasons, re- 
linquished a remunerative practice in one of 
the cotton towns of England, and had wisely 
sought the fresh air and invigoration of the 
Shetlands. With sympathetic comprehension 

89 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

of old Dannie's appeal, he quickly hitched up 
his "gig" and drove in all haste to Junis Voe, 
taking the old Shetlander with him. Half an 
hour later they found poor Barbara in anguish 
— a travail which should not have been hers. 
Barbara lived, but the golden light of the new 
day that stole in at the bedroom window fell 
upon a tiny form that was still. 

It was just the same old story of a trusting, 
loving girl and a false lover; just a repetition 
of what is happening every day the world over. 
But with us it is more tragic, for the girls of 
our Islands, unlike the city girls, have no 
change to which they can fly when their hearts 
are broken and their lives made desolate. 
They must continue to live in changeless mo- 
notony, in remorse with no recompense. And 
Shetland lassies have hearts true to the core; 
when their love is wounded, that love dies hard, 
if it die at all. Be it said to the glory of the 
men of the coast that heart-breaking is never 
laid at their doors; invariably it is an alien that 
strikes the blow. During the past months Bar- 
bara, with bleeding heart and fearful soul, had 

90 



Barbara 

hoped against hope for the return of her lover. 
^'Perhaps he would remember the promises he 
had made her and the debt he surely owed 
her," she thought. But he did not come, and 
never a word, no, never a word did the postman 
bring. Poor old Dannie and his faithful wife, 
her mother, grieved sorely, for beautiful Barbe 
was their only "bairn," the rightful pride of 
their hearts. 

After long months Barbara regained her 
physical health, but there was something 
strangely wrong. It would have been easier 
for Dannie and his wife to have cared for 
their daughter had she been a bedfast invalid, 
for Barbara's affliction caused her to stray from 
home. In the night-time she would rise and 
wander out toward the sea. Always would she 
turn to the west and, reaching the edge of the 
precipitous cliffs, there would stand for hours 
with her right hand upon her heart. Again and 
again in the dead of night was she seen on those 
bleak headlands, the wind blowing through her 
beautiful black hair, and her robe quickly 
whitening with the snow. For two years and 

91 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

a third did Barbara stray thus; but in one of 
her rambles on a cold December night she con- 
tracted pneumonia, and in three days died in 
her mother's arms. In the little churchyard 
of the village of Junis Voe she is buried. It 
was near evening when twenty-nine souls gath- 
ered round the open grave, and never was there 
a more impressive funeral. The land was 
white with snow, the eastern sky was blue, and 
the west was lurid with a blood-red sun. At 
the head of that heather-clad resting-place, on 
a rude boulder of gray stone, are the words: 

^'BARBARA HUGHES 

Aged 26 Years. 

Until the day break and the 
shadows flee away J' 

Methinks that when the Great White Throne 
is set, Barbara will come to her own and the 
"stranger" to his; for Christ has said, "In My 
Father's house are many mansions; I go to 
prepare a place for you." And "God is not 
mocked; whatsoever a man soweth, that shall 
he also reap." 

92 



VIII 
The Peril of the Sea 

"I dream of the sea, I dream of the sea. 
Its swishing waves make music for me, 
Its pulsing waters beat in my blood, 
My heart knows the movement of neap-tide and flood. 
Its mist-veiled horizons challenge me 
To believe in God and eternity." 

FOR the worship of the sea there surely is 
no better land in all the world than Thule. 
Here it is seen in its sublimest splendor, in all. 
the marvelous phases of its moods. At times 
it is mirror-like and clear, and one Instinctively 
thinks of the oars; and at times It Is angry and 
wildly grand In all Its adorable rage. The far- 
north point of Mainland Is known by the name 
of Fettaland. It Is a precipitous headland 
some six hundred feet high. In a word, It Is a 
battlefield — the scene of a million wars twixt 

93 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

rock and wave. For the lover of the sea it is 
undoubtedly an especial vantage ground. With 
a stiff arctic breeze sweeping down from the 
north, and a full tide, the drama played pre- 
sents a magnificent spectacle. Great billows 
with caps like whitest snow hurl themselves 
against the impregnable iron face, and then 
shoot heavenward with silvery breath as of a 
steaming geyser. Such a sight surpasses de- 
scription; it is altogether too wonderful to por- 
tray by pen. Even the camera would be far 
inadequate. To watch this ocean contest only 
increases its wondrousness, and one becomes 
enchanted as before Niagara. First, the be- 
holder is astounded, then he raves over the 
scene ; and if he is poetical, or has the rich sense 
of wonder, or, better still, if in his heart is 
that something which would make a great mu- 
sician, the eyes become wet and the tears begin 
to trickle, and the soul weeps out its adoration : 

"O the sea, the sea, the wondrous sea!'^ 

The lure of the wild is not imaginary: it is 
real. Those few things of nature which have 

94 



The Peril of the Sea 

gone unspoiled by civilization seem to have al- 
ways exerted a magnetic influence over man. 
They call him; they draw him; they lure him 
from home and loved ones, ofttimes for a long 
period, and that not all a period of pleasure, 
but also of privation and sufferings. The wild- 
ness of the virgin forest and the prairie, the 
lonesome desolation of the sphinx-like North- 
lands, the bleak and sandy wastes of brushy 
desert, and the mad, tumultuous grandeur of 
the great deep woo and call and tug at the heart 
of many, and back to the wild they go, again 
and again and again. 

But the sea is not only glorious and grand, 
it is threatening and full of disaster. Like 
most things that lure us, It also imperils. 
There is a glory of the sea ; there Is also a peril 
of the sea. And It is about this latter thing 
that the Shetland people know so much. 

The Island of Yell Is second In size of all 
the Islands of the Shetland archipelago, and It 
Is said to be the most sterile of all the group. 
The Interior of this isle Is at once gloomy and 

95 



V 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

forbidding, for, save a few green patches, it 
is one monotony of peat-bogs and brown 
heather. The coast in many places is exceed- 
ingly rocky and precipitous, and it bears a repu- 
tation of disaster second to none. Wind-lashed 
and scoured by the storms of centuries, it pre- 
sents a face that is decidedly inhospitable and 
perilous. A peculiarity of the Island is that 
there are granite columns along different parts 
of the shore which are said to have been erected 
by the vikings as memorials of thanksgiving 
for preservation from shipwreck. 

It was to the folks on the northwest coast of 
this isle, on July 20, 1881, that there came the 
greatest catastrophe that has ever befallen the 
Shetland people. To this day it is called "The 
Great Gale o' Yell Sound." The morning of 
the day on which this terrific squall came had 
been perfect. The sun had shone out of a clear 
blue sky, not so much as a tiny cloud being 
visible. The early morn indeed was a morn of 
promise, and the men of the coast were quick 
to take advantage, for hardly had the sun be- 
gun to rub his eyes than they were off to the 

96 



The Peril of the Sea 

"haaf," or deep fishing-grounds. But sunshine 
In Shetland is often delusive; one hour may be 
perfect summer, the next a playtime for the 
Storm King. Those who have lived there 
know full well to keep their oilskins near at 
hand. The sunshine of this woeful day seemed 
just a lure of the fates, for soon after midday 
the sky clouded, the wind rose, the sea grew 
boisterous, the gale howled and shrieked, and 
they who had sailed the placid sea of the early 
morn returned no more. There is little left 
on record concerning the catastrophe except the 
extent of the death-toll. Of the sixty-three 
brave Shetland men who with glad hearts and 
songs on their lips had gone to sea that early 
morning not one returned to tell the grim tale. 
Almost every family on the coast lost Its bread- 
winner. The story of the shipwreck and the 
desolate wives and children sped along electric 
wires and was printed in the newspapers of the 
morrow. And be it penned down in history 
to the glory of old "Britain" that the soul of 
the kingdom was stirred to its depths, and men 
and women — aye, men who till then were rated 
7 97 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

soulless — gave unstlntingly of their wealth, and 
a fund of seventeen thousand pounds was 
raised. 

The older folks tell the story of a girl who 
at one time lived alone with her father on a 
certain island. She was beautiful, and her 
father loved her very much. When but a babe 
her mother had been drowned at sea. A little 
brother also had gone by the sea. One win- 
ter's night her father, out in his fishing-boat, 
struck a reef. The teeth of the reef crunched 
the boat, and the sea swept the splinters on. 
Next morning his body was washed ashore 
scarce thirty yards from the door of his home. 
The daughter, as was the custom of the folk, 
watched by her dead father until the day of 
burial. Following the interment, she went to 
her bed and slept till dark, then arose; and 
lighting an oil-lamp, she stood it in the window, 
where it might feebly shine out on the voe, and 
sitting down at her spinning-wheel she spun till 
the morning light. For forty years did she 
tend her little lighthouse. From fair maiden- 

98 



The Peril of the Sea 

hood till her hair grew white did she keep her 
lamp burning. Mariners and fishermen pass- 
ing knew they could always depend upon that 
light. Always would they look for it, and 
never did they find it gone out. On treacher- 
ous nights they would head for it, and then 
steer into the safe voe beyond; and not one 
failed to send heavenward heartfelt thanks for 
the little lighthouse and its keeper. Never on 
earth did she know of the lives she saved and 
the wrecks that were averted because of her 
sacrifice. Every night she spun so many hanks 
of yarn for her daily bread, and one hank over 
to buy oil for the lamp. In those days there 
were no lights on the Shetland coast. 

Were a straight line to be drawn out of Gon- 
firth, Olnafirth, and Busta Voes, and also along 
the sound that lies between Muckle Roe and 
Papa Little, the point of convergence would be 
found in the Island of Linga. Linga is a soli- 
tary isle — a lone monitor. In winter it is bleak* 
and desolate, and covered with snow; but in 
summer, a purple gem in the setting of a sap- 

99 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

phire sea. Geographically it is a perfect circle, 
and always it has been uninhabited except by 
sheep, though 't is said that it is the rendezvous 
of trolls. ("Ole Jamesina Mouat" to this day 
tells of seeing the trolls sitting round a blue fire 
on the crest o' Linga one Halloween; and I 
know that since that night, in the firm belief 
of this strange hallucination, she has never left 
her shack in the dark without a blazing peat 
in the claws of a pair of tongues.) Directly 
south of Linga is Cole Ness, and the first house 
one comes to on the summit of this headland is 
designated "The Moon.*' It is an ideal little 
home and reminds one of the lines : 

"The cottage was a thatched one; 
The outside old and mean; 
But everything within that cot 
Was wondrous neat and clean." 

Now, "The Moon" is rightly named, because 
it is situated at a great height. The stranger, 
by reason of the way he pants and blows on 
getting there, concludes on the spot that a bet- 
ter name could never have been given. But 

100 



The Peril of the Sea 

this house is not only like the moon because 
of its altitude; it is also like it because of its 
kindliness. There never was or ever will be 
a kindlier home than "The Moon." The folks 
who dwell there are a family of three: Jessie 
Christiansen (the mother), and Christina and 
Helga, her daughters. It must also be told 
that in this home there are four chairs — one a 
vacant chair — and the tragedy and grit con- 
nected with the vacant one are the kernel of 
this account. 

One evening, just as the sun was going down, 
a letter was left at "The Moon" by the carrier 
of rural mails. It bore a foreign postage- 
stamp and was marked "Thorshaven." Its im- 
port was this: Magnus Christiansen (the father 
and only bread-winner) had met his death at 
the "north fishing," having found a watery 
grave off the bitter Faroe coast. The schooner 
on which he had sailed — Faroe Belle — in a 
gale had struck the "Little Diamond" (a rock) 
and foundered with all hands. 

At this very time a famine was raging in 
Foula, and sore was the distress in other parts 

101 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

of the land. But In poor, isolated Foula it 
was doubly sore. There the iish had failed, 
and the lean grain of their crofts had perished. 
Men grew weak with pining; inother's breasts 
were dry; babes and children were dying; it 
was eerily a grievous time. With this dark- 
ness already hanging o'er the land, the reader 
will be quick to see what a terrific blow the con- 
tents of this foreign missive brought to the In- 
mates of "The Moon." 

But the widow and her girls were the sort 
the sea rears; they were Norse to the bone 
and had the hero blood of sea kings coursing 
warm through their veins. While I know that 
their eyes were wet with tears for many a day, 
I know, too, that their teeth were grit and their 
spirits singing with an intrepid optimism. 
With determination as flint did they set to work 
with the spade and the needles, and barely at 
times, yet surely, the ghost of starvation was 
kept at bay. No pen can ever tell of their 
struggle, no, nor yet of their victory. It was 
a struggle of sweat and blood, but to-day they 
live to sing of their triumph. And be it said 

103 



The Peril of the Sea 

to their honor that while all they possess has 
been toiled for hard and long, there is not a 
home in all the world more beneficent than 
"The Moon." Ever the table is spread, and 
always the kettle goes on. 

The Shetland people are great believers in 
Providence and in "guardian angels." They 
believe, also, "that the eyes of the Lord run 
to and fro throughout the whole earth, to show 
Himself strong in the behalf of them whose 
heart is perfect towards Him." 

During the spring of 1866 a whaling vessel 
of the name of Diana left the port of Hull 
for the coast of Greenland. On her way up 
she called at Lerwick for men who were skilled 
in the work of the Great White North. No 
sooner were they secured and aboard than she 
put out on her way again. What sort of catch 
they had that summer the writer does not know, 
but for some reason or other, instead of run- 
ning south ere the ice set in thick, the Diana 
lingered, and lingered too long. All through 
the long, dark winter she stayed, frozen in the 

103 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

grip of the ice. As time dragged on, provisions 
grew less, and soon there hovered o'erhead the 
shadow of grim death. One brave fellow after 
another died, and when the sun of the spring 
broke up the ice and liberated the Diana she 
was her own skipper, for the few that were 
yet alive were unable to sail her. Unseen by 
all, another Pilot took the helm, and one day 
of the following year the Diana, with more 
of her crew dead in their bunks than alive, 
was seen gently gliding into Ronas Voe (Shet- 
land). The Shetland people recognized her 
Pilot and have since erected a fountain at the 
pier-head of Lerwick, as a memorial of the 
Diana's providential return. 

Near a spot where the heather blooms the 
bonniest and the sun sets the grandest there 
is built an old, old home. Gray and weather- 
beaten, with a straw-thatched roof, and look- 
ing as though it had been built a thousand 
years, it stands a memorial of by-gone days. 
All about the doorway and as far as the well 
are the usual slippery cobblestones. Near by 

104 



The Peril of the Sea 

are the cowshed and the barn, and some few 
yards from these, toward the shore, is the old 
tarred boat, which leans on its side as though 
its working days were o'er. To look at, this 
homestead does not seem worth a twenty-dollar 
bill, but its outside appearance is no criterion 
by which to judge the folk that live within. 

When I get weary with the stiffness and con- 
ventionalities of our so-called civilization I fly 
in spirit back to Houbensetter, and again sit 

with Mother B , enjoying her quaint talk 

and her "fly cup o' tea." I fancy that I see 
her now — crippled with rheumatism, eyesight 
poor, and sickly at times — sitting close to the 
fire, with a red-and-white handkerchief about 
her head, ever busy teasing her wool. The 
shine on her face seems to tell of the peace she 
experiences with God and man, and her won- 
derful contentment with the life of poverty and 
bitterness she has been called upon to live. In 
the home with her are two daughters, both 
typical "Shetland lassies." 

This remnant of a once bigger family has a 
sad and touching history, one which tells of 

105 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

calamity, but also of magnificent courage. I 
tell it feelingly; it is sacred ground. One even- 
ing father and two sons pushed down the 
family boat and set sail for Voe, where a 
store is built and provisions kept. To reach 
that place they must needs pass through a pe- 
culiar sound called "The Narrows" — a deep 
spot overlooked by steep hills and notoriously 
noted for its reputation of disaster. When 
nearing this particular place, a flan of wind 
came sweeping down upon the little craft and 
overturned it. It was all so sudden, and there 
were none at hand to save. Henceforth in the 
home were to dwell a widow, two fatherless 
girls, and a fatherless boy. 

There came another day, when the lonesome 
laddie was fishing just off from that home- 
stead's door, and in some way mysterious his 
boat, too, capsized, and he was drowned be- 
fore his mother's eyes. She, brave soul, rushed 
down to the shore, and, pushing off another 
boat, with Herculean strokes made to the spot 
where her boy was sinking; but all too late. 

106 



The Peril of the Sea 

How unrelenting is the hand of fate ! How 
stern are his decrees! The blows of the 
Stranger Death are hard blows anywhere, but 
their sting is keenest when at sea. So it was 
in this home. No cemetery have they to visit ! 
No grave on which to lay roses — save the roll- 
ing face of the mighty deep. They can not 
mark the spot where the dear dead lay. Nor 
do they hear grand organ wail out its funeral 
elegy — naught but the weird thundering of the 
angry sea. Methinks such calamity must have 
broken their hearts, but I know that while they 
will carry to the grave the soreness of the be- 
reavement, the spirit of the Norseman was not 
wounded to the death. 

It is now years since all this happened, but 
from those days to these, these three have 
fought a great fight. With viking courage and 
grit invincible they are winning to this day. 

Mother B is now old and feeble, and the 

lassies keep the home together. In turns do 
they go to the "gutting," and together do they 
work the land — delving the soil, dragging the 

107 



A Sturdy Little Northland 

harrow, cutting the hay, carrying the peats, 
milking the cows, seeking the sheep amid win- 
ter snows, and at night the everlasting knitting ! 
God bless them! aye, aye, God bless them! 
The spirit of Grace Darling ever lives in her 
sisters of the sea. 



108 



UG 14 1913 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



